


Hints of Sadness

by MaRuX



Category: Shaman King
Genre: Angst, Canonical Character Death, Gen, Introspection, Pre-Tournament
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-10
Updated: 2013-02-10
Packaged: 2017-11-28 19:01:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 889
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/677808
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MaRuX/pseuds/MaRuX
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He knew about them. And he felt so very lonely.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hints of Sadness

As 13 years of existence didn't mean much, the life of a teenager shouldn't have overcome the average. You should have had everything you needed to live and to complain about. A family, friends, a home…

And nobody knew it, how lucky they all were. They had everything they had to have and nothing misplaced. The fights between friends and family, the sadness of fallout, the sudden passionate denial of your own mistakes compared to theirs…And he will never know how it's like.

He watched it all from his seat, like the audience in a show. He didn't need to crane his neck or turn his head around; he could sense it all so clearly. He just stayed in his seat, unobserved by the others as if he wasn't there, as if he couldn't hear them, as if he didn't know anything. His large green eyes always shone dispassionately yet seemed so sad, and they were unreadable, clear like glass – like he didn't know at all - and watched the same show every day, every week, every time. It just kept repeating itself so many times yet it seemed all so new to others…

A small argue between daughter and mother, the birth of someone's niece, the unexpected death of a beloved grandfather, it happened so many times. The chatter kept flowing through the classroom and he was hearing it all. He didn't say a thing; his heartbeat might have increased or slowed down and he felt sadness; like always, striking merely a cord. It might have seemed strange, it might have seemed sad, but he knew everything.

One of his classmate's tone clearly full of indignation and he can picture it all in his head so well; he's been scolded by his father again. His green eyes are looking somewhere far away, the ones surrounding him cannot see what he sees and knows. His heartbeat feels slow to him, like a heavy church bell and it seemed to have dropped into his stomach at some point. And, strangely, he feels jealous…

He sighed so silently - nobody noticed - as he heard them complaining about their siblings, praising them in their own unorthodox words or just talking about them; and he sees them, he knows them. It became quite a hobby, really; it was like drawing portraits with a pencil. Everything about how wonderful, how delightfully annoyingly ridiculous, how amazingly boring, how outrageously unfair their families were; he knew about them all and felt so very lonely…

He would have liked to talk about his family too, really. But every time the ones around him remembered he ever existed and asked him he had already felt there was nothing he could share.

It all seemed too far away. Like a fantasy, a dream, an amazing, unconceivable fairytale in which he was not alone, he was just a child and had a family, like the others. The dreams he remembered he had back then were pure innocent thoughts painted in colorful, bright tones, childish doodles about his promising future, they must've belonged to someone else; for he, all he could dream about was his nightmare, the one thing he could recall clearly from those faraway times. That day all the small joys in everything seemed to have disappeared and his faith in himself had died. That was when he first saw what fear, terror, sadness could do, as they all morphed into a monstrous passionate rage in one second.

He woke up every night panting, sweating, trembling but he did not cry, not anymore. They were gone, replaced by that never-ending rage, burning in his chest, like the blaze in that memory, swallowing angrily everything around it. It was a vivid, intense bad dream; and that sick smiling face, that terrifying spirit and unnervingly calm and confident voice, chucking at the sight of a child's rage and fear… and right there, in the middle of that familiar room, two bodies lying on the floor, the ones he once knew as his parents in those idyllic dreams of his...

His blood ran cold as he hugged himself and rested his cheek on his desk. He was looking at his classmates and his head felt numb; in his heart sadness stirred as always and he felt used to it. That thought alone made him feel sadder than ever as he heard them talking as usual:

\- "My cousin just arrived last night…"

\- "I can't believe I got grounded! That's so unfair…"

\- "My mom promised me a surprise after school…"

\- "Do you think you'll make it if your aunt said that…"

\- "I loved her so much; I still can't believe she's gone…"

And he couldn't join them…

He closed his eyes tiredly, painfully aware of everything around him. And as he raised his head and stared trough the window, he spoke softly, silently, his inquiry barely audible:

\- "If all of that was just a dream… What do you think it means?"

The little spirit resting on his shoulder, unseen by anyone else – sparkling absently like a distant Morningstar – looked at him with her petite inhuman eyes full of something aching to unfulfilled longing.

He didn't say anything after that but that blaze was in his eyes once more, burning passionately and she felt it; she mewled faintly, softly promising grim results to his master's hatred.

**Author's Note:**

> I often asked myself 'How was Lyserg doing between the time Hao killed his parents and the Shaman Tournament?' My answer is : Not too good. 
> 
> I have so many feels for this character, you have no idea... :'(


End file.
